Assassins
by Science-project-failure
Summary: Assassins AU. Michael and James are assassins, freelance professional killers and this is their love story. Oneshot.


It's late.

The heavy curtains drape the windows, the lights are low and the radio plays some folk music no one pays attention to as long as it drowns out the shuffle that is buzzing about. It's a perfect cover. It's a mellow night. The cheap motel room smells of coins and cigarettes. Apart from the radio, the only sound that can be heard is the occasional click of a gun being pulled apart and put back together. Sometimes, you can hear the distinguishable hiss of a beer can being opened or the flick of a lighter but no chatter. Maybe, once or twice, you'll hear someone say "Wanna bum one?" and another would say "Aye, thanks." Or if one would rise as to go fetch himself a beer, you might occasionally hear a "Toss me one, will ye?" But all the useless banter that normal people deem a necessity is exactly that here, useless, and thus, abandoned to focus on more important things.

Someone once said that you know you've met the one when you can communicate your affection to each other without the need to talk. And someone else said that when you don't talk, you don't fight. Both statements are sound. So technically, the basis of a perfect relationship is presumably silence.

Although in this situation, some would prefer to say that talking is simply unprofessional and if something slips through and gets picked up, it could end up pretty horribly. That's why most of the people who choose this profession usually decide on shutting up. In a way, for some, silence can even be seen as a mantra.

Though it might be conflicting, we must know that even if this job looks stone cold, emotions run deep within the assassins. Yes, opposed to the psychopath stereotypes, assassins actually have very strong emotions, stronger than most even. If you are loved by an assassin, then you are really loved. If you are trusted by an assassin, you are extremely loyal. But if you are hated by an assassin, you are dead. There is also a great difference between assassin and murderer. Funny thing is that it really just is a title. Let's say a butcher hacks dead animals because it's his job. If a normal person hacks a dead animal, it's considered defiling and defiling corpses of dead animals is not going to earn Everyday Joe sanity points. In our context, a murderer is an Everyday Joe-type person who has killed a living human being. An assassin is like a butcher, it's his job. To make a long story short, true love happens to assassins more than to normal people. The point? It's in there somewhere.

Some see this as impossible since in their minds, an assassin flies solo.

Most of those don't last.

Why? Because you always need a partner. Those professional firms and centers from which you hire the best have bonding sessions. Lots of 'em. You train with your partner, you grow, you sleep, you eat, you live with your partner. And you go for drinks, lots of drinks, with your partner. You may even fuck that partner. Most do.

And when you know each other so well you don't need to know each other, you know you've found that perfect one you don't need to talk with. And it's tactical too, imagine if they are bugged. Anything; family, money, secrets, weakness, absolutely anything can be used against you.

And that's what it is for Michael and James. On the run, on a job, in a crappy hotel room, no words, just noise and sometimes from them. When the guns are cleaned, the locks are locked, the bathroom, cupboards, closets, everything, are safe, they can look each other in the eye and everything is said. Every word connects, every thought is voiced and every emotion is felt, all through one look. And when they prepare in the morning and they say nothing, they know the other could die if one of them slips. And the usual worries are voiced through a kiss and a gentle touch. And then they gear up.

The suits are sharp; black vest, white shirt, black tie, nothing that could stick out. Leather gloves, they are absolutely necessary. This is a close shot; you go in, you find, you shoot. Right between the eyes is the best. Close shots are usually more risky. A long shot gives you a great deal of distance but it's no use when you can't see your target. But this one's a close one so they have to infiltrate, that means go out in person. So they are neat, neat, neat. From the short trimmed hair to the polished black shoes, a contrast from yesterday, when they had cleaned out their guns in old t-shirts, hands stained black with gunpowder residue. But you see, there's this nifty little soap that can get off any trace of the gunpowder. Back to the suits, not a single wrinkle, not a single bump. The big desert eagles doubled with silencers are well concealed. When they get there, there's one guy. He's been living like a rat for what seems like a few weeks now, decided to hide until the troubles died down. Bad idea. This guy saw it coming and the best yet, he is completely alone.

It's a trick really, you let them rot for a little bit and then you cage them away from the pack.

This job is easy, it's a nap really. So they shoot the guy together. Two clean shots to the head, one last bullet to the heart for good measure. They get away through the buildings rather than the street. It's easier to lose anyone who might be following. The car is waiting in this huge parking lot. The car is black; nothing like a Benz or a Ferrari, nothing that stands out, and it's neat. The exit is discreet and soon they mingle with all the other cars. You don't risk a chase on the highway but be sure to lose anyone who might be on your tail before you slip into the rivers. When they near a town, they pull over. A restaurant, food seems nice right about now. On the way, there are five muggers. City filth is not a contract, you can't kill them. But you can fight them. And seriously injure them.

Five bodies lay to the ground, all alive but barely. Broken bones and head traumas are in for those five bodies. Some groan in pain, the others are out like a candle. James gets socked in the jaw but the hit partially misses and he ends up breaking the poor sap's arm. That hit is going to blossom purple tomorrow but right now, his lip is cut and his mouth is full of blood. Michael gets off pretty alright except for the knuckles of his right hand in which a few tiny pieces of glass are still embedded. How did this happen again? Ah yes, the guy broke a bottle and at the same time, Michael punched the bastard so he basically punched glass into a man's face. Cool.

They walk away, deciding to just get whatever there is at the hotel they get into. Into a dark corner, Michael drags James closer to him and kisses him deeply, feeling the other's blood on his tongue. The kiss doesn't last long enough, it's never enough. They pull out for air and composure. James raises his heavy hooded eyes to Michael's and leans into him, pushing him harder into the wall. He takes the Irishman's injured hand and kisses it slowly and lavishly, tasting the blood of his partner as he did before with him.

Suddenly, Michael says something that sounds like "Let's get the fuck out of here." James agrees eagerly and they nearly run back to their car.

Pumped from the fight, they are restless. Even as Michael is driving, the Scot can't seem to keep his hands off him. He caresses a thigh, grabs at a bulge and he can feel it peeling from Michael as well. Soon, but not soon enough, they pull over. Into the woods, the car is snugly hidden from the world. Nearly as soon as the engine stops, Michael reaches James for a hungry kiss. They didn't pull over to fuck, they need to clean up. But the tension is so intense there's nothing they can do about it. James breaks the kiss and reaches down to push Michael's seat all the way back, giving him more space between his legs and the dashboard. James settles there. There's enough space to distance him from the pedals. Michael braces himself on anything solid he can find. His hands are shaky with adrenaline and his senses are clouded with need. James roughly fumbles with Michael's belt and zipper and mouths at the bulge confined by yet another piece of constricting black cloth. Michael's response is very audible. The Hugo Boss boxer-briefs are soon too inconvenient and James pulls them down only to free the member he'd been groping at earlier on the road. Michael frees one of his hands, the injured one, to rest on the side of James's head. James caresses that hand with his own and reaches for Michael's dick with the other, taking the tip into his mouth. His jaw doesn't hurt yet, nothing hurts yet. But he still sees that his capacities may be a little limited today. While teasing the top with his delicious mouth, he grabs at the base with the hand that is not holding Michael's. He takes a few long licks from bottom to top and mouths at it afterwards. He takes as much as he can into his injured mouth and sucks. The hollow of his cheeks looks criminal. Michael feels himself coming undone. James reaches down with the newly freed hand to touch himself. It makes Michael want to fuck him into next Sunday. Before he comes, he motions James to stop with a sharp little tug at his sinfully soft hair. He pulls James up onto his lap and kisses him. He fumbles with James's pants just as James had done with his minutes before. He takes his and James's members into his good fist and starts pumping. He concentrates on holding on because he probably feels closer to the edge than James does. When the movements become erratic and the breaths, more shallow, it's the tell tale sign that it's it for them. James feels close and leans into Michael to kiss him but he pulls away. James understands and looks straight into his eyes. He fights the urge to close his eyes or turn his head because he gets what is happening. James feels that tingling escalating and comes with a strangled cry and Michael comes not two seconds later in a similar fashion. They just stay like that for a few moments. Then James gets off of him and reaches for the first aid kit.

First, they clean up the mess of semen from Michael's hand and readjust their trousers. They take off their shirts and Michael reaches for crisp, clean ones. James pulls out the glass shrapnel from Michael's hand and dresses his wound. Michael cleans James's face with a tissue drenched in sterilizing alcohol. Both soothe each other's injuries with tender care. They wipe the sweat and grime off and put on their crisp clean shirts and take out their dinner jackets as well.

Once they're all straightened out, they go back onto the road and to London. Once they arrive, they check in at the Ritz. The energy from the fight is still rolling over them but they maintain calm in the presence of others. When the elevator empties though, nothing can keep them apart. Suddenly, they were grabbing again, Michael's hand sorely upon James's plump arse and his mouth over his collarbone. They are champions; one minute, they are horny teenagers, the next, they are so composed and cool it chills you to the bone. In a good way.

Once inside their room, they lock the door, hide the guns except for their handguns –Berettas 92FS–, they check the bathroom, cupboards, closets, everything, and then they are set. Michael lights a Marlboro while unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt.

He watches James intently as he slowly makes his way across the room to where Michael sits, undressing painfully slowly. When he is right in front of him, his shirt is unbuttoned completely and his pants are open. James takes the back of Michael's head in his hand and slowly plunges his gaze into the other's. Still holding the gaze steadily, he settles himself onto Michael's lap and rolls his hips. Michael grunts in response. His hands find the curve of James's backside and soon grab flesh under the underwear. James snatches Michael's cigarette and lifts up and off of him. He shrugs out of his slacks, socks still on, and takes his seat back. While James is grinding and Michael is running his hands up slender thighs, little gasps and grunts escape. James takes a long drag off of the cigarette and shotguns Michael who claims his bum with his hands once again. James undoes Michael's pants and sits onto the bulge, feeling it up against the swell of his arse. Satisfied with this new angle, he grinds down again. He takes the last drag of the smoke he holds and stubs it onto the marble countertop behind Michael. James says something dirty, something along the lines of "I want you to fuck me right in this chair." and Michael nearly chokes. James unbuttons the last buttons left on Michael's shirt while leaning into his neck and slips it past his shoulders and onto the floor. Michael peels down James's underwear only enough to free his bum. He puts two fingers to James mouth and he knows what to do. When the fingers are wet enough, he lets them go looking like a vixen. Michael then slips a finger through James's hole he knows all too well. James jerks and gasps at the motion, a small playful smile splayed on his lips. James leans down to give Michael a sloppy open mouthed kiss as now two fingers are twisting around inside. Michael searches a bit then grazes over something that makes James sound illegal. In response, James licks his hand, reaches down, grabs Michael and pumps. James was ready a long time ago, prep had been really just courtesy but it had still been appreciated. While Michael's fingers slip out, James takes Michael and sinks himself onto him. He settles both hands onto Michael's shoulders and starts riding him. Michael's face is a mixture of surprise, pleasure and submissiveness. He lets out a gasp every time James sinks himself down onto his length. James has so rarely seen Michael come undone this way and it's truly fascinating to him. How the thrill of the chase gets the both of them off, always and passionately. Michael starts to thrust back and the rhythm picks up speed. Michael kisses James, drinking his moans until he felt feels James thighs tremble. James comes with a loud "Fuck!" eyes closed and mouth opened wide in bliss. His muscles clench around Michael and he comes as well. All the while they don't even realize they are holding hands.

James's eyes are red and puffy and on the verge of tears it seems.

Michael is overcome by the things he feels for James.

"I love you."

THE END


End file.
